


You Are Alive

by agetwellcard



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Drug Use, Infidelity, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-15 01:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2210607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agetwellcard/pseuds/agetwellcard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a concerned Jon Walker shows up at Brendon Urie's doorstep, he tries to convince Brendon to get his ex-bandmate and past lover help from his drug habits. In the span of a week, Brendon stays at Ryan's house and attempts to find him help but instead becomes close to his old friend again and procrastinates until it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are Alive

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for bandom big bang but it never got claimed so here it is. warning for attempted suicide, drug use, and infidelity.

You Are Alive | ryden | NC-17

 

It’s Jon who approaches Brendon about it. He’s visiting from Chicago, from his little townhouse and his pets and his wife and his _kid_ , and he just so happens to show up at Brendon’s door, hands shoved deep in his pockets and a lazy smile on his lips.

 

And, sure, Brendon might maybe still hold a grudge, but he’s a mature adult and tells Jon to come in, to sit down, and asks him if he wants anything.

 

“Oh, no. Nah, that’s fine,” Jon replies, craning his neck to see around the room. His eyes land on a collage of photographs Sarah put out. Most are from the wedding, Sarah and him smiling broadly with family members, but some are older, from when they first met, when Brendon was still going through some stuff. There are none of the band, only a small framed photograph of Spencer and Brendon.

 

“So,” Brendon mumbles awkwardly. His fingers feel restless and involuntarily move by themselves, tapping a quick tempo onto his knees.

 

“Look, we need to talk,” Jon says, and Brendon can deal with this, but then he goes, “About Ryan.”

 

Brendon freezes, fingers stopping dead. He knows he should really be over this, that he’s answered a million and two questions about Ryan in interviews since the split, and he’s joked about him with his friends, and he’s even talked to Ryan a few times, but something about the tone in Jon’s voice means that this isn’t going to be the quiet, tapered version of what he usually talks about.

 

Jon doesn’t wait for a reply before saying, “I’m really worried about him, Brendon. I’ve talked to him a few times and he doesn’t seem okay. Like, worse than the last time.”

 

Brendon hasn’t even talked to Jon about _the last time_ before. Right before the demise of his band, Ryan wasn’t well. He didn’t know how to deal with losing Keltie, losing the band, or watching his own baby, the band he ruined everything for, fail. No one was surprised to see him worsen his drug habits. If there was one thing Ryan could do, it was spiral. Brendon did nothing to help, either. It wasn’t his business anymore.

 

One time after Ryan’s band went on hiatus, when he was so high he didn’t even know what he was doing, he showed up at Brendon’s house. He was nearly crying, apologizing profusely to Brendon as Sarah listened, eyeing Brendon with worry. Brendon ended up calling Ryan a cab and sending him home, spending at least ten minutes pushing him in and telling him it was going to be okay. Brendon knows he should have tried to help Ryan, but he felt too far gone already

 

After you cut ties with a guy like Ryan, you don’t go back.

 

Now, here was Jon, so worried that he was willing to put away all of our differences, the ones that they didn’t have so long ago, when they were all so close they refused to talk to anyone else, and Brendon was really hoping Jon wasn’t going to be asking much of Brendon.

 

“He has friends who look after him,” Brendon shrugged indifferently. He wasn’t about to get into this. Ryan’s life and Brendon’s life weren’t connected anymore. Brendon had spent too long dissociating himself from him so that they wouldn’t ever be friends again.

 

“Brendon,” Jon says slowly, like he needs Brendon to understand the impossible. “I think you should really visit him, try to get him to get help. He won’t listen to anyone.”

 

“Oh, so he’ll listen to me?” Brendon defended. “He hates me, Jon. And now that I think about it, I’m not very fond of him, either.”  


“I know the things he did were wrong, okay? I know you’re still angry. But I’m worried, Bren.”

 

Brendon crossed his arms over chest protectively. “I’m sorry, but maybe you should talk to someone else, like Spencer. He’d probably do it. Do you want his number? I have it in my—“ He starts to pull out his phone, even if he knows Spencer’s number by heart. Just anything to look away from Jon’s stare.

 

“ _Brendon_ ,” he says firmly, making Brendon freeze, his phone forgotten on his lap. “You know why I’m asking you.”

 

Brendon purses his lips at this. Of course he knows why Jon’s asking _him_.

 

“It’s time to forgive him,” Jon tells him quietly.

 

And maybe Brendon knows he’s right.

 

***

 

When Brendon tells Sarah why he’s packing a bag for a whole week, she just nods. She understands, and even curls around Brendon and makes sure he remembers his toothbrush.

 

***

 

On Sunday morning, Brendon ends up parking down the street from the address to the house that Jon gave him, and walks the rest of the way. He has his overstuffed backpack on, full of enough belongings to last for a week. He’s practically rehearsed all his lines already too.

 

When he gets to Ryan’s porch, he forgets most of them, though. Ryan’s the one who gets the door, calling for Brendon to wait a second for him to do something. Brendon realizes how stupid it is for him to be nervous to see _Ryan_. He might not be the same guy that Brendon knew from a few years ago, but Brendon figures there will be a lot of things that are the same about him.

 

“Oh,” is all Ryan mutters out when he opens the door and finds Brendon there. He’s got on rimmed glasses, hair pushed back over his eyes awkwardly, and a loose band shirt on. Brendon definitely knows this Ryan. He grew up with this Ryan.

 

“Hi,” Brendon says, smiling like he’s not at all uncomfortable. He’s gotten good at that, though. “Um, I have a favor to ask.”

 

Brendon desperately wants Ryan to tell him to come inside, but Ryan just stares at him from his door frame and goes, “Sure.”

 

“Can I come in?” Brendon asks.

 

Ryan eyes Brendon’s backpack for a moment but nonetheless lets Brendon in. He shows him to his living room, a white room full of rugs and guitars hanging on the walls. Brendon thinks the house suits Ryan, that this is probably the house that Ryan has envisioned having since he was sixteen.

 

Ryan looks like he’s waiting for whatever it is Brendon has to say, so Brendon just comes out with it, “I need a place to stay for a week.”

 

“ _Why_?” Ryan asks instantly.

 

Brendon sighs, trying to look deeply upset about something, but Brendon’s never been a very convincing actor. “It’s Sarah, my _wife_ ,” he clarifies, wondering briefly if Ryan even knows Brendon’s married. “It’s just…we’ve hit a rough spot. She basically kicked me out of the house, so I just—“

 

“Brendon.”

 

“Need a week here. I’ll buy groceries, too. I could even—“

 

“ _Brendon_.” This makes Brendon stop and look up to Ryan’s concerned face. “Why are you really here?”

 

Brendon _knows_ Ryan. If he just told Ryan that he was here to get him help, that Brendon, who hasn’t seen Ryan in a year, can somehow officiate Ryan’s life all of a sudden, Ryan wouldn’t ever let him stay.

 

In a moment of stupidity, Brendon ends up saying, “Do you have any beer?”

 

Ryan just gives him a strangled look, like he’s about to explode at him.

 

Brendon finally deflates, looking uncomfortably to the floor. “Look, I just missed you, okay? Is that wrong?” Brendon figures this is half true; he _does_ miss Ryan sometimes, like when he ends up strumming the chords to a random Counting Crows song, or when he finds a tour jacket from years ago in the back of his closet. He misses Ryan, but that’s not the reason why he’s here.

 

This appears to conflict Ryan, and he ends up looking away when Brendon tries to make eye contact, like maybe that can explain everything. Ryan just stands up, wrapping his arms around his torso and muttering, “A week, Brendon. Then you have to leave,” before leaving Brendon alone in Ryan’s house.

 

***

 

It’s completely wrong that Ryan is the one who ignores Brendon.

 

Ryan had showed Brendon to his guest room, quietly apologizing about the bed not being made. Brendon watched as Ryan tried to fix it, pulling the duvet too far up, and Brendon finally had to stop the train wreck and tell him it was okay, that he didn’t really mind. After that, Ryan had left and hid out in his room for the whole night, the only noise being the quiet hum of the TV.

 

Brendon had been confident the next morning would be better, and even gets up early, sets his alarm clock like back in the old days, and waits at Ryan’s kitchen table for a whole hour before he hears him get up. Ryan stumbles into the kitchen, wearing the same band shirt from the other day and a pair of loose boxers, his glasses nearly falling off his face.

 

He squints at Brendon for a few beats until he must realize what he agreed to last night before he goes over to the coffee machine and starts a fresh pot. He sits down across from Brendon at the table silently.

 

“So, you wear glasses now?” Brendon asks to kill the silence.

 

“Evidently,” is all Ryan can put forth, his voice still scratchy like it always was when he got up in the morning. Like it still is.

 

Brendon sighs and looks down at the table before saying, “Do you have anything for breakfast?”

 

“I thought you were going grocery shopping.”

 

Brendon definitely remembers when this used to be easier, when he used to set his alarm clock to hell-o’clock-in-the-morning and find Ryan already awake in the lounge scrawling in his black notebook. Brendon would sit right next to him, so that their shoulders would touch, and maybe sometimes Brendon would lay his head down on Ryan’s shoulder and they would just talk. It seemed like it was the only time they could ever get some meaningful words out. Plus, they were always extremely honest, their words falling out of their mouths so much easier than it did at other times. It was like they were talking at three in the morning instead of seven.

 

Now, Brendon just wants to go back to that. Looking at Ryan, years later, it makes Brendon physically ache for the friendship they used to have. Whether that could ever be a possibility again or not, Brendon’s not sure if it’s a good idea. He knows what happens when Brendon’s friends with Ryan.

 

He looks around the room for a notebook, and easily spots one and fetches it. Even if he desperately wants to look at what is written on the page, even if it’s just someone’s random number or a to-do list, Brendon makes himself quickly skip to a clean page and start writing.

 

“What are you doing?” Ryan asks as he stands to go check the coffee.

 

“Making a shopping list,” Brendon tells him easily. “Do you need anything?”

 

Ryan instantly replies with, “No,” before Brendon can go check the fridge for milk. “I’m capable of going grocery shopping for myself.”

 

“I was just trying to be helpful.”

 

He slams a mug down on the counter. “If you were trying to be helpful, you’d go to a goddamn hotel. Or at least tell me why you’re here.”

 

Brendon slowly rips out the list from the notebook and stands up. “I told you already,” he says before leaving the room to get changed and go to the store.

 

It’s not until Brendon’s ten minutes away from Ryan’s house that he gets a text from him that just says _i need eggs_.

 

***

 

Brendon ends up calling Spencer when he gets home from the store. He spent nearly the whole day out, saving the actual grocery shopping for last, and spending most of his time at a frozen yogurt place devising a plan. From what Brendon can deduce, Ryan appears to be gone, his door slightly ajar and a pair of Converse missing from the doorstep. Brendon takes this as a good sign and puts the groceries away, trying to figure out Ryan’s cupboards and listening to the dial tone until Spencer does finally answer.

 

“Hey, Spence,” Brendon greets. “So, um, are you busy this week?”

 

Brendon can practically hear Spencer’s confusion over the phone. He’s probably use to Brendon just showing up at his house. “What do you mean?”

 

“It’s just that—what the fuck? _Seriously_?” Brendon shudders as he finds a bag of moldy bread far back in one of the cupboards, right next to what appears to be an unopened jar of peanut butter. “Jesus Christ. I don’t understand him.”

 

“Who?” Spencer now asks, sounding suspicious

 

“Who’s the only person we know that would end up with a moldy bag of bread in his cupboards?”

 

“Well…there’s—“

 

“Ryan. I’m at Ryan’s house,” Brendon hums, and before Spencer can ask why, Brendon goes, “It’s a long story. I just think one of these days you should come over. You know, try talking to him.”

 

“About?”

 

Brendon leans against the counter, his hands freezing as they’re putting away a container of chicken broth. “Well,” Brendon starts, kicking back into motion and closing the cabinet, revealing Ryan leaning against the kitchen door frame, head cocked in Brendon’s direction. “Fuck, Spencer, I gotta go.” Brendon clicks his phone off and cautiously puts it in his pocket. Ryan’s got on sunglasses and his shoes are still on his feet, like he just got home.

 

“Scheduling me playdates?” Ryan asks sarcastically.

 

“It’s not like that,” Brendon shrugs.

 

Ryan pushes off from the door frame and walks closer to Brendon. “So, what is it then? Because if I wanted to talk to Spencer I would have by now, okay? I could have—“

 

“No, you wouldn’t,” he scoffs.

 

“Yeah, because we all know you’re _so_ great at that kind of stuff.”

 

Brendon stills, feeling caught off guard, and he prays that his eyes don’t do that deer in the headlight thing that Ryan would just _love_ to see. He forces himself to stop this. He knows he won’t get anywhere this week if Ryan and him are just fighting the entire time. Brendon’s going to fix this.

 

He straightens up and tries to give Ryan a winning smile before announcing, “I’m making us dinner tonight.”

 

Ryan just arches an eyebrow up at him.

 

***

 

Brendon’s not going to brag to Ryan or anything, but he did take a few cooking classes before the release of Panic’s fourth album, and he probably liked it more than he should have. It was Sarah’s idea, but Brendon definitely took to it, practicing at home before each class, trying to impress Sarah with dishes he made with is new skills. If anything, it was a good way to unwind after working in the studio.

 

Now, though, Brendon tells himself he’s not trying to impress Ryan. He doesn’t spend at least fifteen minutes plating the meal because of _Ryan_ , spending at least five of those minutes fussing with the garnish, and he doesn’t meticulously put together the table and fix his hair before they eat because of _him_ either. Brendon just wants to help Ryan, and if making a big deal of a meal is going to help smooth things over then so be it.

 

Ryan finally settles into his place, wobbly placing a napkin on his lap. Brendon really doesn’t want to notice the way he’s acting, the way he’s seen him act before when he’s too high to even try to comprehend a question that the interviewer is asking him. Brendon always managed to cover for him then, but he’s not sure if he’ll manage this time.

 

“I didn’t have any recipes with me, but this one isn’t hard,” Brendon mutters, dramatically placing a plate in front of Ryan and then across from him. “Stuffed baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and glazed carrots. Hopefully, you’ll like it.”

 

Despite the way he’s fidgeting, Ryan does seem impressed. He quietly says, “Um, thanks,” and then, “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a while.”

 

Brendon knows he’s telling the truth, and it makes him a little uncomfortable to see the way Ryan’s looking at him. Brendon smiles shyly and looks down to his own meal. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Ryan lets out a loud laugh. “Are you blushing?”

 

Brendon rolls his eyes and takes a bite of one of the carrots. He might have put too much sugar in it, but by the way Ryan’s eating them, he doesn’t seem to notice.

 

The room seems tense for a few moments, but then Ryan asks, “So, when did you learn to cook?”

 

“I took cooking lessons last summer.” Brendon definitely doesn’t miss the smug smile on Ryan’s face. “It was Sarah’s idea.”   


“Your wife?” He says it like a question, but Brendon knows that Ryan knows who Sarah is. “So, what did you do to get kicked out?”

 

“It’s kind of a long story,” Brendon says, looking past Ryan and onto the wall behind him because he’s really not that good at lying, especially to Ryan.

 

“Did you cheat on her?” Ryan spits out, laughing at his joke so hard Brendon doesn’t have to. “Lemme guess, you cheated on her with a guy, right?”

 

Brendon completely deflates. He always hated when Ryan got like this when he was high, when he’d get cocky and nasty. It wasn’t the Ryan that Brendon even pretended to know.

 

He tries to calmly say, “I wouldn’t cheat on her.”

 

“Everyone says that, Bren,” Ryan says, stuffing more chicken in his mouth. “I said that once too.”   


“I did _not_ cheat on her.”

 

Ryan seems satisfied this time.  “What was it then?”

 

Brendon realizes he’s actually going to have to make something up, and ends up using the only thing he’s ever really gotten in trouble for. “I just got drunk at the wrong time,” he says dejectedly.

 

Ryan snorts. “I know that feeling.”

 

“ _Weird_ ,” Brendon hisses, suddenly too angry to even contain himself. He tried to do something nice and to fix things, but now it’s all falling apart.

 

“You know, you don’t have to be a dick all the time.”

 

“Yeah, I’m the dick,” Brendon bitterly laughs out. “ _Me_.”

 

“I don’t understand you,” Ryan shrugs indifferently. “Like, I didn’t do anything to you and then you just. You just completely cut me off. And you kept _my_ band going like it was yours all along.”

 

Brendon feels like he’s had this argument over a million times, but keeps fighting. “Well at least I didn’t ditch it for some failure of a band.”

 

Ryan doesn’t look as hurt as Brendon had hoped he would be. Instead, he just looks furious, standing up clumsily, his gangly elbows knocking off his plate, Brendon’s whole meal falling onto ground, and Brendon feels himself snap at this.

 

“You fucking idiot,” he shouts. “Was it really worth it, Ryan? Look at you now, man. You’re fucking pathetic.”

 

Ryan suddenly jumps at Brendon, pushing him against the wall, his fist just barely missing Brendon’s face. Ryan’s stepping on Brendon’s feet, making him unsteady, and when Brendon tries to push back at Ryan, they both end up on the floor. Brendon scrabbles to get on top of Ryan, to just punch him in the face so it can be over, but Ryan’s practically thrumming with energy and seems to have no problem pushing Brendon down and then punching him, right below his left eye.

 

“You’re a fucking faggot,” Ryan hisses right before punching Brendon again but in the eyes this time.  

 

Brendon goes slack, all the fight that was left in him draining out. He doesn’t even understand why that word gets to him so much, why it _still_ does, but with the way it comes out of Ryan’s mouth, it paralyzes him. Ryan realizes Brendon’s not going to do anything, so he just rolls over and lies on the floor next Brendon, chest rising up and down heavily.

 

Brendon waits a few moments, really hoping that Ryan will apologize for the mess he’s made, but he realizes it’s not coming when Ryan gets off the ground and walks out and into what Brendon can only assume is his bedroom, the door slamming loudly.

 

It takes Brendon longer than he wants admit to finally get up off the floor.

 

***

 

There’s a light thudding noise coming from the front of the room and Brendon tries with all his might to ignore it and rolls over, groaning as he wraps himself further in the blankets. It’s only after a few more knocks that Brendon realizes what it even is.

 

He pushes himself up, grabbing for his glasses and realizing that Ryan is the one at the door with his arms wrapped around his torso.

 

“Sorry to wake you,” he says quietly, eyes strictly on the ground and not anywhere near Brendon’s. “I just. I’m really sorry about last night. And, um, I’m going to be out most of today so you have the house to yourself for a while.”

 

Brendon nods. He can’t bring himself to apologize or forgive at this hour.

 

Before Ryan leaves, when he’s about to close the door, he turn back around and utters, “I left some Tylenol and shit on the kitchen counter for you,” before leaving.

 

It takes Brendon a while, but he does finally get up and stare at his reflection for at least ten minutes. A black eye and dried blood seems to be the damage from Ryan’s fist yesterday. That and a headache which Ryan must have guessed were going to be a thing. Probably not a coincidence he knows how to recover from that kind of stuff.

 

Brendon spends most of the day in his room, messing around on his laptop until he decides he wants to play guitar. Even if there’s been a nagging thought to just sneak around Ryan’s house a little bit, Brendon doesn’t do it and goes to the living room where Brendon remembered seeing guitars on the wall. Upon further inspection, though, he only finds a twelve-string and an electric, and Brendon really just wants to play an acoustic, and he doesn’t think it will really be a big deal if he looks in Ryan’s room because he’s bound to have one in there.

 

Brendon double checks to make sure that Ryan is definitely still out and only then does he creep towards Ryan’s door. It’s slightly ajar like it is when he was gone the other day, just a slice of his room visible. Brendon pushes it forward and looks around. An expensive looking bed is pushed in one corner against the wall, something curled up on the far right of it.

 

When he rushes over to it, a big smile on his face, it looks up. “Hey, kitty,” Brendon says quietly to the empty room, hand brushing over the cat’s neck, hoping he can make it purr. Brendon’s never really been a cat person, and he definitely doesn’t remember Ryan ever being one, but he does admit the cat is cute up until the point where it bites Brendon’s hand, hisses, and promptly leaves the room.

 

Brendon cradles his bitten hand with his other, and looks around for the guitar. Unsurprisingly, he does find one against a desk full of papers, and Brendon can’t help but to just peek at what they say. He can only read snippets of words, a lot of ‘you’s sticking out. He carefully picks up one sheet, looking at the one below it, but he just founds a neatly folded up paper.

 

Brendon’s eyes flick back to the door to make sure that Ryan doesn’t appear out of nowhere like before, and the he unfolds it and only finds what looks like sugar, but Brendon’s definitely not stupid enough to think it’s that. After nearly spilling Ryan’s coke all over his carpet, he puts the desk back to how he found it and ends up leaving the room without getting the guitar, not exactly in the mood to write some hit song.

 

For the rest of the night, Brendon watches TV in Ryan’s living room, laying out on the couch, with his head on one of Ryan’s uncomfortable pillows that are obviously more for looks than function. He ends up falling asleep on accident, and only wakes up when he hears the door slam and a girl giggle. Brendon keeps his eyes shut, praying that Ryan and whoever he is with for the night won’t notice him.

 

Sure enough, though, the girl does notice. “Didn’t know you had a guest,” she says.

 

“Only until the Sunday,” Ryan mutters. “Then he’s gone.”

 

“Who is it, a family member or something?”

 

There’s a long pause and then Ryan says, “Kind of.”  


***

 

The next morning, Brendon wakes up on the couch still, neck sore and an imprint from the pillow on his cheek. Ryan and the girl who stayed over are in the kitchen and Brendon makes the mistake of stumbling in on them talking at the table.

 

“Hi,” Brendon says slowly to the blonde girl. She’s only wearing a loose t-shirt, most likely borrowed from Ryan, and a pair of bright pink panties. He notices that Ryan and her both have wet hair, like they just took a shower together, and Brendon tries to get _that_ thought out of his head.

 

Brendon won’t admit it, but he does keep tabs on Ryan and Jon to see what they’re doing, and Brendon definitely recognizes this girl. He would assume she was his girlfriend if he knew better, but Ryan isn’t too good with girlfriends so she’s probably not.

 

She takes one look at Brendon and lets out a loud laugh, one of her hands coming up to cover her mouth. She turns back to Ryan and says, “A _family_ _member_?”

 

Ryan rolls his eyes and say quietly to just her, “Fuck off,” and then he turns to Brendon and says, “Brendon, this is Z.”

 

Brendon cautiously sits down at the table when he realizes that that’s what they want him to do. Z stares at him for a few moments and then cracks a smile. “It’s so weird that I’ve never met you,” she says to Brendon. He doesn’t feel completely in the loop, and thinks he might ask about it, but then she goes, “So, who gave you—“ and motions to Brendon’s black eye.

  
Brendon doesn’t say anything, just looks across the table to a sheepish Ryan, who looks vaguely guilty. Brendon’s still not really in the mood to forgive Ryan for that night.

 

“Well, _damn_ ,” Z giggles. “Who knew you could throw a punch?”

 

Ryan scoffs but doesn’t say anything on the matter.

 

Z must sense the tension between Brendon and Ryan, and she stands, saying, “I should probably get going.”

 

She wanders towards Ryan’s bedroom and few minutes later, where Brendon and Ryan don’t even look at each other, she comes back wearing a sheer blouse and a short skirt. She sweetly kisses Ryan, one of her hands coming up to card through is hair before she says, “It was nice meeting you, Brendon,” and then, “Play nice!” before leaving the house.

 

Brendon and Ryan do manage to make a strangled kind of eye contact just as the door slams shut, Ryan eyes cautiously guarded and Brendon’s probably far too _un_ guarded. Brendon’s thinking that Ryan might try to apologize again, but he really isn’t surprised when he doesn’t.

 

He wonders if maybe this would be a good time to at least tell Ryan he’s concerned about his habits, that even if they aren’t that good of friends anymore that Brendon just wants to help him and he still cares about him.

 

All Brendon manages to get out is, “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

 

After Brendon spends what feels like eternities in the shower, stifling his urge to sing at the top of his lungs like usual, he hears a soft a guitar coming from the living room. Beside better judgment, Brendon creeps into the room, peering around the corner to see Ryan on the couch, the acoustic Brendon had seen in his room now on his lap. There’s a notebook in front of him, but from where Brendon is standing, it looks empty.

 

“Hey,” Brendon says softly as he enters.

 

Ryan sits up a little, fingers not falling from their place on the freeboard, and gives Brendon a long look.

 

Brendon’s not really sure if he’s invited to stick around to listen, but he wants to so he sits down on the couch adjacent to Ryan’s. “You writing music again?” he ask, even if he knows that he is. Besides the fact that Ryan will probably never stop writing music, Brendon has listened to a few songs he has released recently, the ones that are simply under ‘Ryan Ross’ and not some new band, the ones that Brendon doesn’t want to admit sound similar to the kind of thing he is doing lately.

 

“Kind of,” Ryan admits shyly, his hands finally stopping, the hand with a pick coming up to rub his jaw. He looks up to Brendon, a small smile on his face when he asks, “You?”

 

In that moment, Brendon thinks that maybe it’s possible for himself to apologize to Ryan.

 

Brendon doesn’t want to brag, but he is still extremely proud of the band’s recent release, so he ends up saying, “Yeah. We just put out a new record. Took us a while to make, but I think it was worth it.”

 

Ryan and Brendon talk cautiously about the album, and it takes Ryan a while but he does finally admit that he’s heard a few songs off of it. Brendon keeps his mouth shut about listening to Ryan’ songs, but he does somehow work up the nerve to ask Ryan to play one of his new songs. The request seems to take Ryan surprise, but he nods lazily and sets his shoulder to play.

 

The song is good. Brendon can tell that Ryan’s nervous, even if they’ve done this kind of stuff a million times. His voice keeps dying out too soon, not quite singing loud enough to even think of reaching some of the higher notes. The song is good, though. Brendon only really gets half of the lyrics, but of what he does get, he thinks it sounds more like the stuff he used to write.

 

When he finishes, Ryan says it’s kind of rough, but Brendon compliments him anyways. There’s a few moments of awkward silence until Ryan offers a smoke and goes off into his room and comes back with a joint that Brendon accepts.

 

They end up lying on the ground like old times, Ryan’s guitar finding its way on Brendon’s chest, his arm at weird angle as he plays what he remembers of the David Bowie song Ryan’s been humming the entire day.

 

“I’ve missed this,” Ryan says quietly as Brendon’s fingers lazily move across the fret board. Of course Ryan misses this. This was when they were at their best: completely stoned and playing music.

 

This is when Brendon realizes what he is actually doing.

 

He spent years cutting off every single tie he had with Ryan Ross. He vowed he’d never forgive him or let himself get close to Ryan again. Now, here on the floor right next to him, their shoulders only centimeters apart, and Ryan telling him that he _misses_ Brendon, well, not Brendon, but _this_ , which is basically Brendon. Brendon is here on a mission, and it isn’t to befriend Ryan. It’s to help him, and that shouldn’t include them getting back together.

 

Brendon’s not sure how to break into the I-want-to-see-you-get-help speech or the maybe-it’s-time-to-slow-down speech. His mouth feels incredibly dry, heart beating too hard against his ribs. “I’ve missed you too, Ryan,” he finally says. He doesn’t emphasize the ‘you’ but it’s there and it’s true. Brendon’s missed him since a few months after he left the band, and the stinging hatred he had for Ryan left and Brendon was stuck with craving anything from his former best friend.

 

Before Brendon can even try to start his pitch, Ryan goes, “We should try writing a song together.”

 

There’s always been a long list of reasons why Brendon and Ryan were never good at writing songs together, or at least the skeleton of a song, and the first one of the list, the one that probably still remains even today, is that Ryan and Brendon have a tendency to write about each other. Whether it’s just one line, something simple, like a memory, or a whole song about heartbreak masked with good metaphors, they always end up writing about each other. Brendon figures it probably isn’t as bad as it used to be, but he doesn’t really want to take any chances.

 

“I don’t know,” Brendon says quietly, resuming strumming the guitar.

 

Ryan only looks vaguely hurt, “We could just—“

 

Someone is knocking on the door. Ryan looks disappointed that he didn’t get to finish what he had to say, but he still gets up to get the door. Brendon sits up, discarding the guitar, and fixes his hair as he listens to the voices in the hallway. A group of what must be Ryan’s friends find their way to the living room, Ryan trailing awkwardly behind them, scratching the back of his neck when they all find Brendon and then turn back to Ryan questionably.

 

“Getting high without us, Ross?” one of them jokes, holding out a hand to Brendon. “Brendon, I’m Dan.”

 

Brendon stands up before he shakes the guy’s hand. He should really be used to people he doesn’t know just calling him by his name, but it’s usually teenage girls who claim to be the band’s number one fan, and not people who are Ryan’s group of friends.

 

“I finally get to meet Brendon Urie,” one of the girls says excitedly.

 

Brendon realizes he’s probably some urban legend to these people. They all obviously know Ryan’s backstory, probably make jokes about it all the time, and Brendon is his “secret lover.” It’s not exactly the best image Brendon can have, but it’s better than a few people that have been part of Ryan’s life.

 

Brendon tries his best to remember all the people’s names when they introduce themselves, but he’s never been good at that kind of stuff, even if there’s really only ten people over. The only two people Brendon actually recognizes are the girl from yesterday, Z, and Alex Greenwald. Their reunion is tense, both of them smiling too wide, shaking each other’s hands for just a little too long. As far as Brendon knows, Alex is the only person in the room that knows what actually went down between Brendon and Ryan, and it makes him feel more vulnerable than ever.

 

Regardless of Brendon’s past with Ryan, everyone is decent to him, even if Brendon suspects they all probably make fun of him and his band all the rest of the time, and they all drink together and Brendon ends up getting drunk enough he’s convinced into telling embarrassing stories of Ryan from when they used to tour together. 

 

Partway through the story about Ryan trying to get with a girl that interviewed the band, Brendon realizes that Ryan isn’t even listening anymore. Across the room, he’s seated next to Dan, lethargically moving his hands in that way that means he’s trying extra hard to explain his feelings. Something in Brendon’s chest starts to sting, his mouth stuttering on a few choked words.

 

It’s only then that Brendon realizes he’s been replaced.

 

***

 

On Thursday morning, Brendon realizes he doesn’t have much time left to do what he came to do. He only realizes that it might sound hypocritical of him to make Ryan get help when Brendon did smoke weed with him, but Brendon figures weed is completely different. It’s not like Brendon would be asking Ryan to check into a rehab all because he’s addicted to weed.

 

Brendon’s being cautious, though. He knows Ryan’s going to come up with a million reasons as to why Brendon should be the last person to take advice from. Brendon knew it was going to be a hard fight the moment he decided to actually come and try.

 

He just doesn’t realize how long he’s been at Ryan’s house without even suggesting a thing about it until Jon calls him early one morning. Brendon doesn’t recognize the number but answers it nonetheless. Jon greets him like it really isn’t six in the morning, talking briefly about his baby before he cuts to the chase.

 

“So, have you gone over to his house yet?” he asks seriously.

 

Brendon resists the urge to sigh. “Yeah,” he says. “I’ve been here since…Sunday night.”

 

There’s a moment of silence where Brendon really hopes that Jon doesn’t start drawing conclusions. He’s not here for _that_.

 

“Are you just sticking around until you convince him…or?”

 

“No,” Brendon replies instantly. “I’m not exactly ‘sticking around’ but I am staying at his house. I just figured it would be easier than showing up after so long of not seeing him and trying to pressure him into something.”

 

“Jesus,” Jon breathes out, obviously surprised. “That must be fun.”

 

Brendon smiles a little. “It’s been interesting. Look, don’t worry, Jon. I’ll do it. I just need a little bit more time. You know how Ryan is.”

 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Here, lemme give you the address to the rehab center I found. It’s only a twenty minute drive from Ryan’s place. I read some stuff online about it. Seems good. And in his price range.”

 

Brendon gets up and searches the room for a pad of paper or something. It’s only in the closet that he finds a wicker basket full of journals and magazines that he has a place to write the name down on. After ending their call, Brendon goes to rip out the page from the notebook and put it back, but then he realizes the one below it has the numbers “2008” scrawled on it with Ryan’s messy handwriting. Without thinking, Brendon pulls it out, finding pages of his old words. Brendon recognizes some it as lyrics from Pretty Odd, or some of it just from old songs they never finished.

 

Some of it, though, isn’t even lyrics. There are random undated journal entries between pages of lyrics. Brendon knows he shouldn’t, but he figures he deserves this after all the shit Ryan put him through, so he reads through all of them. Most are about Keltie, the first few the writing of a man who’s deeply in love, and then they get guilty. When Brendon sees his own name, he blinks and reads faster. It’s nothing he doesn’t know, though. Just the same, “I don’t love him, but he loves me” kind of stuff. Brendon’s heard all of this before.

 

Underneath a few more journals, he finds magazines. He’s expecting some John Lennon edition of Time, but instead he finds magazines with his own face on it. They’re all old, from 2006 or 2007, with their young faces gleaming on the covers. Brendon scoops all of them up and rushes around the house trying to find Ryan.

 

He’s in the living room, sipping tea from a mug, a book out in front of him. He doesn’t look up when Brendon enters the room.

 

“You kept these,” Brendon says stupidly, covering the book on Ryan’s lap with the magazines.

 

Ryan looks up, his glasses half down on his nose, and lifts an eyebrow. “I guess.”

 

“Why?”

 

Spencer doesn’t even keep stuff like that, and he’s the nostalgic one. Brendon didn’t expect to find these in Ryan’s house of all places. Ryan loses everything, and can’t keep track of important things, yet here is a stack of shiny magazines from years ago sitting in his spare bedroom. Brendon doesn’t even know why he’s upset about this.

 

“Why would I throw them away?” Ryan asks slowly, picking the one up on the top. They’re all wearing ridiculous outfits with frills and everyone has strange makeup on. Ryan’s got a pocket watch in his grip, something he undoubtedly stole from the set, and Brendon is staring up at him.

 

“Why would you wear that hat?” Brendon asks quietly, a small smirk on his face.

 

Ryan laughs a little and counters Brendon by going, “Why would you cut your hair like that?”

 

Brendon feels the tension leave the room, all his unnecessary anger floating away. He sits down next to Ryan and grabs for one of the magazines at random. Sure enough, he pulls out their Rolling Stones shoot. Brendon remembers the day clearly because him and Ryan had spent the hour before it fighting about something petty and it ruined the entire shoot.

 

“Shit was crazy,” Brendon mutters, flipping through the pages.

 

“God, do you remember that day?” Ryan asks.

 

Brendon nods, laughing through his nose. Funny he should ask. They talk for a while, flipping through the pages of the different magazine and laughing at all their outfits. It feels good to have something to say to Ryan that isn’t all apologies. Plus, it’s nice to laugh about the things that used to hurt. It’s all over and done with now, so the pain is replaced with this silly feeling in his chest.

 

Later on, Brendon is on his laptop in the living when Ryan plops down next to him. His eyes seemed glazed over, like he’s high, but it’s obviously just weed with the easy way he’s pressing against Brendon, probably not thinking too much about it.

 

“Hey,” Brendon says quietly, trying to inconspicuously minimize his email page without Ryan thinking he’s trying to hiding something. “What’s up?”

 

Ryan leans his head against the back of the couch. “Starving, man. Do you wanna go out to get something?”

 

Brendon slowly closes his laptop, realizing he doesn’t exactly have time to weigh the pros and cons of going someplace with Ryan. He just nods his head and then he finds himself behind the wheel of Ryan’s car driving to In and Out. Ryan’s twitchy hands fidget with the radio the entire time, snorting when a Fall Out Boy song is on one of the channels, and leaves it there as he lights a cigarette.

 

Brendon keeps catching himself looking over to Ryan, watching the way he leans towards the open window to blow out smoke. Something deep in his chest aches. He wonders if this could have been normal if the band wouldn’t have split, if everything wouldn’t have fallen apart so easily. He wonders if he would have been able to spend long afternoons with Ryan, going out to eat with him and laughing with him and playing Beck songs on guitar with him. Brendon knows exactly what this is now. He understands that this is all borrowed, and that this isn’t permanent.

 

They sit outside, the lowering California sun rippling the sky with pinks and oranges that Ryan looks at for a few moments before sheepishly saying, “I’m still really sorry about that night.”

 

Brendon figures he could be talking about a _lot_ of nights, but he assumes it was just the most recent one. “No, man, it’s okay, I—“

 

“No,” Ryan interrupts, looking up from his food and at Brendon’s eyes for once. “It was really shitty and I was just really high and…I shouldn’t have called you that.”

 

Brendon doesn’t have to ask what “that” refers to. The only thing he can manage to do is just shrug. He doesn’t really want to talk about it. It seems silly to Brendon that they still tip-toe around the word, act like it’s big and mighty when it’s just a goddamn _word_. There’s still something that aches in Brendon’s chest whenever he hears it because he’s been called it so many times for multitudes of reasons. It’s always managed to hurt the most when it was coming from Ryan’s mouth.

 

There are a few moments of silence, one where they both look away from each other in different directions. Brendon doesn’t want to, but he ends up thinking of _them_. Thinking of the way they used to curl up against each other in hotel beds and pretend that they were anything but _together_. Thinking of a summer that Brendon wishes would have never ended. Thinking about anything but the way it all collapsed.

 

“I’m really the last person who should be calling people that,” Ryan admits shakily.

 

It takes Brendon a few seconds to realize this is a confession. “So…you’re…?” He pauses, painfully hoping that Ryan can figure the rest out for himself.

 

“Eh,” he shrugs. “I mean, better than before. I—you know, both. I like both.”

 

Brendon wants to congratulate Ryan on finally being able to admit it, but something stops him. Brendon can only think of when he came out gay to Ryan—technically to the whole band, but mainly Ryan—and he just scoffed at him and called him names and degraded Brendon.

 

“Kind of ironic,” Brendon mutters. He’s smiling but he doesn’t know why. “After everything you did to me.”

 

Ryan doesn’t need an explanation. He looks down to the drink in front of him and wipes at the condensation collected. “Don’t you know what it’s like? The denial?”

 

Brendon does. He’s bashed his fair share of feminine guys in the hopes it would strengthen his straightness or at least make it look like he was even straight. He maybe does understand where Ryan is coming from, but it still hurts.

 

“I was your best friend and you just. You acted like I was a completely different person. You hated me.” Brendon clears his throat, scared he might just end up crying right here. “How do you think that felt? And now what? You’re…you’re _bisexual_ and I’m just supposed to not be upset?”

 

Ryan looks up now, eyes desperately trying to meet with Brendon’s. “I’m not asking you not to be upset, Bren. I’m sorry. It’s just—it was hard to come to terms with it all. Can I just—“

 

Brendon knows that Ryan can tell that he’s about to cry, and if he even tried to say anything he knows he would burst. Ryan gets up and pulls Brendon to a standing position so they can hug. Ryan’s never liked hugging, or much physical touching outside of sex, but their hugs were different. Brendon’s not even surprised when he melts into it, a smile blooming on his face.

 

Brendon understands. He does. It’s just going to take a while.

 

When Ryan pulls back, they share smiles and sit back down, the toes of their shoes touching from under the table. “So, what are you now then?” he asks carefully. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but…”

 

Brendon’s stunned by the question for a minute but then he realizes that Ryan did think he was gay probably up until the point when he heard Brendon had gotten married to a girl. “I guess after you left, I just decided that I really just like both too,” he says slowly. “I even mentioned it in an interview.”

 

Ryan looks up for a split-second with an eyebrow raised questionably. “Really?”

 

Brendon nods, smirking a little. “It wasn’t that bad.”

 

Ryan lets out a breathy laugh that sounds more sad than anything else. “It wouldn’t be as easy for me,” he mutters. “And you know that.”   


When Brendon looks over, Ryan looks visibly sick at the thought. “Hey,” Brendon says cautiously. “I’m not telling you to come out or anything. I’m just—It wasn’t hard for _me_.” 

 

“We should—“ Ryan looks stiff, obviously put off by the way Brendon worded that. “We should go back to my place.”

 

Brendon used to wish Ryan would say that to him.

 

Now, he just sighs and gets up to throw away his trash. The car ride home is silent, the air tense and tight. Brendon wants to say something that will calm Ryan down, but instead he just watches as Ryan smokes two cigarettes, one after another.

 

When they get inside, after they’ve taken off their shoes, they’re standing across from each other, making more forced eye contact. Ryan’s eyes are vulnerable, too open, showing that he’s scared, that he’s sad, and that he doesn’t exactly know what to do with himself anymore, that he never really has, either.

 

Despite his better judgment, Brendon pushes forward, enveloping Ryan in a loose hug. He realizes how familiar it feels to be against Ryan like this again. Brendon’s relieved sigh just falls from his lips, and they push closer, Ryan arms wrapping tighter around Brendon.

 

Brendon knows what comes next. He’s done this before with Ryan. He knows how he is. Most of the time, the only way Ryan can ever get some of his feelings across and feel like he’s still alive is simply having someone to be with. Brendon’s just not sure if he wants to be that person anymore.

 

He pulls back a little, to where he can see Ryan’s face clearly. He looks less worried, most of it probably hidden away better this time. And, fuck, Brendon’s not sure if he—

 

“I…need to. I’ll be right back,” Brendon says hurriedly, pushing away completely and rushing away to _anywhere_ else.

 

He locks himself in the bathroom, turning on the sinks and definitely turning away from the mirror. He pulls his phone out his pocket and calls Sarah's number, his heart beating in time with the dial tone. He's really trying to figure out why he's shaking but then Sarah answers the phone with a quiet hello that makes Brendon's shoulders sag just a little. All he manages to get out is a painful, "Sarah," because he's not even sure what to do, and he refuses to look at himself in the mirror right now. "I just, I don't know how—“

 

"Brendon, it's okay," she interrupts soothingly.

 

“Can I?” he asks quickly. He knows how Sarah feels about this kind of stuff.

 

She doesn’t ask for an explanation. "Do what you need to do, baby."

 

And, God, Brendon misses her so much in that moment. He wants to curl his fingers in her hair and listen to her talk about anything and—

 

"I understand, just as long as you come home."

 

Brendon can definitely agree to this.

 

He breathes in a few times after hanging up, finally turning around and giving himself a long look in the mirror. He saw how vulnerable Ryan looked, but now he’s realizing that he must have looked the same. He doesn’t understand why things turned out like they did. He wishes he could go back more than he’s ever wanted anything.

 

He finally leaves the bathroom, ready to finally face Ryan, but when he goes back to the doorway he finds Ryan and Z, smiling at each other like Brendon never really did exist.

 

“Oh,” he gets out before anything else.

 

They turn to him, and Brendon definitely doesn’t miss the guilty look on Ryan’s face. Z goes, “Don’t mind if I steal him for a little while, right?”

 

“No,” Brendon spits out. “Have fun.”

 

He watches Ryan slip back on his shoes and leave, not even bothering to turn to look at Brendon, and then he’s gone and so are all the events of what could have been.

 

Brendon promised himself a long time ago that he wouldn’t ever write a sad song about Ryan, but he starts to wonder if maybe it would do him good to get it out of his system tonight.

 

***

 

The next morning, Brendon waits in the kitchen for Ryan to wake up. He heard him get in the night before, loudly stomping into the house, chuckling to himself when he must’ve run into something. Brendon knows he’ll probably have a shit hangover. He doesn’t necessarily want to help Ryan, but before the band split Brendon and Ryan were known to have twin hangovers and Brendon’s picked up tricks to help Ryan out.

 

Ryan does eventually get up, stomping out into the living room instead of the kitchen. Brendon walks to him, trying to keep himself from running. He feels like he’s reverting to how he used to be. It almost scares him until he sees Ryan on the couch, irritated look twisted on his face as he tries to roll a joint.

 

“You should really be better at that by now,” Brendon smiles, sitting next to him, but resisting the urge to take it from Ryan and do it himself.

 

Ryan scoffs. “Not this early,” he murmurs.

 

“It’s one o’clock, Ry,” he says.

 

“Shit,” Ryan says, looking up to Brendon, his hair flat against his skull from sleeping. “Really?”

 

Brendon nods. “I made coffee a while ago. It’s probably still warm. Want me to get you a cup?”

 

“No, I’ll get it in a minute…” He hands seem shaky as he finally lights his joint, eyes closing as he inhales.

 

“What are you doing today?” Brendon asks quietly. He secretly hopes that Ryan isn’t going out with his friends, that Brendon can have him all to himself today.

 

Ryan shrugs and mutters, “I don’t really plan things,” which Brendon most definitely knows already.

 

“We should spend the day together. Like old times.”

  
Brendon figures it’s risky, both of them pretending like there isn’t really hundreds of memories that they try to black out of each other. Brendon’s been trying to blacken them ever since they’ve happened. He wrote songs about them, purposely disguising the truths with SAT words and complicated metaphors. He learned from the best though.

 

“That’d be cool,” Ryan admits, finally passing the joint to Brendon even if he didn’t ask.

 

Brendon takes a long inhale and looks around the room. “What do you wanna do?”

 

“We could go out someplace. A bar maybe?”

 

“Ryan, it’s only the afternoon,” Brendon reminds him again. This just reminds Brendon that he really needs to tell Ryan about the rehab idea. He can’t wait any longer.

 

“Right, right,” he mutters. “We could watch a movie?”

 

Brendon figures he can wait a little bit longer before asking him.

 

They end up watching American Beauty in Ryan’s room, since the TV is biggest in there. Brendon watches with full attention because he’s only seen the movie once, and he swears he was high during it, but then Ryan seems bored, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

 

“Are you still angry at me?” Ryan asks softly.

  
Brendon looks over from the movie to Ryan’s face. He looks sober, and it makes Brendon feel anxious knowing it. Usually when Ryan was ever sober, they had long, meaningful conversations about their feelings. Then, it was the one thing Brendon looked forward to and needed to keep his sanity, but now it seems impossible to articulate how Brendon has been feeling lately.

 

“About what?”

 

Ryan smiles sadly. “I guess it could be a lot of things,” he whispers. “But, are you still angry that I hit you? That I can admit I like guys even if I, _you know_.”   


Yeah, Brendon _does_ know. He bullied Brendon relentlessly and told him it was a phase when he came out gay—and in Brendon’s defense it never really was a phase; at the time he did only like men. Surprisingly, getting punched in the face by a coked-up Ryan Ross, though, wasn’t high on the list of things Brendon is angry about, or at least not anymore.

 

“You punched me. It happened. We both said things we shouldn’t have.” Not really. Brendon knows what he said was true, no matter how hurtful it could have been. “I’m not angry about who you are. I want you to be happy.”

 

Ryan stares at him for a few moments, and then looks down, big smile on his face. “Thank, Brendon.”

 

Brendon’s stomach clenches up when he realizes how happy Ryan looks by what Brendon said. Brendon wonders when the last time Ryan’s heard something like that. That someone just wanted him to be happy. When Ryan looks like he’s about to cry, though, Brendon feels gutted.

 

“Things have been so weird lately,” Ryan admits, voice hoarse as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t feel like a person anymore.”

 

Ryan looks away, past Brendon, like he’s embarrassed that’s crying in front of him. Brendon’s seen him cry so many times, though. He knows what it sounds like, what it feels like against his chest, and even what it tastes likes, but suddenly he doesn’t feel prepared to deal with this broken Ryan in front of him. Ryan’s always been broken, but Brendon’s always known how to put him back together, even if the pieces would always fall apart again.

 

He tries his best, though, pulling Ryan into a hug. Brendon feels Ryan wrap his arms around his neck, his face leaning against his shoulder.

  
“I’ve fucked up so much,” Ryan whispers into the fabric of Brendon’s shirt.

 

“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter anymore, okay? It’s better now,” Brendon coos, the words coming out without him even thinking.

 

Ryan pulls back, and before Brendon can pet his hair or smile at him, he leans in and chastely kisses Brendon. His lips are wet, and Brendon can taste his tears again, the flavor like a familiar ache in the back of his mind. As quickly as he had come, Ryan pulls back, muttering out, “I’m sorry.”

 

Brendon doesn’t even know what to say. There had been a time in his life when everything was opposite, and it would have been Brendon apologizing. Now, he wonders if Ryan finally loves him, or if he’s finally beginning to, and that makes something throb in Brendon’s chest. That was all he ever wanted a few years ago, and now it’s completely different.

 

Since he doesn’t know how to reply, how to make Ryan feel better, Brendon pushes closer and kisses Ryan back. He doesn’t respond for a few beats, ones where Brendon wonders if he’s messed it up again, and then he’s putting his hands on Brendon’s hips and sighing into the kiss.

 

They kiss like they’re different people because they are in the end. There’s been too much change in their lives and Brendon knows that he’ll never quite remember how exactly Ryan kisses him. Brendon drags his hand down from the back of Ryan’s neck and onto his chest, palm flat across his t-shirt. He can feel the steady thump of Ryan’s heart against his palm, and he’s alive with Brendon in that moment. He knows he should say something, that he wants for Ryan to know how much he wants him to stay in his life, and that he wants him to get help, but all that comes out is a broken moan as they lie down on the bed.

 

Ryan’s tongue is in his mouth, hotly pressing against Brendon’s, and his hands are roaming the bare skin beneath Brendon’s shirt. With one easy motion, Brendon’s shirt is off and on the floor. Ryan stares unbashful for a few seconds and then leans in to suck at Brendon’s neck. It’s short lived, though, because Ryan is trying to get out from under Brendon, muttering, “I just need to—I gotta do this real quick. Sorry. Just. Please wait.”

 

Brendon watches as Ryan rushes out the room, hand shooting out to grab something from the desk. Brendon sits up in the bed, a little disoriented until he realizes what is happening. He breathes out heavily, licking his lips and running a hand through his messy hair. _Of course_ , he thinks. They’ve changed so much, but not at all really.

 

Ryan comes back a few minutes later, rubbing his nose with the back of his wrist and sniffling before trying to pull Brendon back into the bed.

 

“No,” Brendon tells him firmly. “This…Ryan, you need help.”

 

He just looks at Brendon blankly.

 

The knot in Brendon’s stomach gets worse as he chokes out, “I came here to get you help. And I didn’t tell you. But, I’m worried about you. Everyone is. Jon, he was the one who told me to do it. And, fuck, Ryan I don’t want for you to die on me.”

 

Brendon’s nearly crying, and he can’t even force himself to look over to Ryan to see his reaction. He knows it won’t be good. His words came out all wrong, they always do when he needs them to the most.

 

“What the fuck?” Ryan whispers, standing up from the bed. “What the _fuck_ , Brendon. You’re joking, _right_?”

 

He wishes he was. “Look at yourself, man. I’ve only been here for a week and I’m worried.” Brendon pauses, knowing he shouldn’t say the next line, but he can’t help himself when he goes, “I don’t want for you to end up like your dad.”

 

Ryan stares at him, mouth open, and anger radiating from his eyes. Instead of a yelling match like Brendon expected, Ryan runs back to the bathroom and slams the door. Brendon sighs and gets up off the bed. He wanted Ryan to understand how serious the situation is, but he knows he went too far with bringing up his father.

 

The door to the bathroom is locked, and Brendon bangs on a few times before saying, “I’m sorry, Ry.”

 

There’s no response. Brendon leans forward so his ear is up against the door. He hears something that sounds like a broken sob and then the telltale rattling of a bottle of pills. Brendon knows that sound. Heard it too many times to count, and in that moment he can’t breathe.

  
“Ryan, please, open the door, _Ryan_ ,” Brendon yells, voice panicked as he bangs on the door. He hears the sink start running and his chest constricts. In a moment of stupidity, he tries to ram the door open, using all his weight to hit against the door. It doesn’t do a thing. “No, come on, please. I’m sorry I said anything.”

 

The door still doesn’t open. Brendon sags against it, realizing he’s crying, his whole face wet from tears. He doesn’t know what to do. He was never told what to do in situations like these. It kills him not to know what’s going on behind the door. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

 

Just then, the door is cracked open and Brendon pushes inside, finding Ryan on the ground. “Oh, fuck,” Brendon mutters, dropping to his knees and looking around in a frenzy. There’s an empty pill bottle near Ryan’s hand and Brendon clutches on to it as he asks, “Did you take them all, Ryan?”

 

Ryan opens his eyes, squinting at Brendon. “I don’t wanna die,” he tells him, voice hoarse.

 

“No, you won’t. Ry, you won’t,” Brendon says, finally pulling himself together enough to pull out his cell phone and call the police and get an ambulance for his friend on the bathroom floor.

 

He won’t die. Brendon wouldn’t let that happen.

 

***

 

The hospital smells exactly like how Ryan used to describe it when he would have to wait for his father. Brendon’s never really noticed it until now, though. The smell of bleach makes his throat close up as he tries to wait patiently and to block out everything that just happened.

 

Brendon rolls the yellow pill bottle between his hands. He must have pocketed it mindlessly before leaving the house. It’s prescribed to a Ross, George Ryan. It doesn’t say what it’s for, but Brendon doesn’t really want to know. His mind is flashing with the events of the past hour. He put the bottle back in his pocket.

 

He starts to feel sick again, his hands clutching the arm of his chair uncomfortably, eyes closed shut tightly. He just wants to see Ryan. They doctors are pumping his stomach and Brendon feels like he’s going to be next. When someone lightly touches his hand, his eyes snap open alarmingly.

 

“Hey,” Z says, just as much worry on her face as Brendon figures is on his own. Brendon never called Z so he doesn’t know how she figured out and he suddenly feels incredibly guilty. “Brendon—“  


“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I should have called or something. I was just. I was. They won’t say if he’s gonna be okay.”  He breaks off into a sob, curling into the chair more.

 

She pulls Brendon up from the seat, giving him a long hug, one that makes Brendon realize why Ryan likes her so much. Brendon only tightens his grip. “This is all my fault,” he whines into her shoulder. She rubs Brendon’s back, probably in hopes that he’ll stop crying like a child, but he can’t even help it. When they finally pull apart, though, Brendon notices that she’s also got watery streaks running down her cheeks and her makeup smudged.

 

“What exactly…” she trails on.

 

Brendon really doesn’t want to talk about it, but he knows she deserves it. “I just told him.” Brendon stops and tries to breathe. He manages to tell her everything but only feels entirely too guilty by the end of it. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

 

Z looks down to the floor. “No, Brendon, he’s been on antidepressants for a few years now,” she says. “He’s talked about it before.”

 

Brendon feels like he can’t breathe. “He’s been suicidal?”

 

Z just gives him a long look, making Brendon choke down another sob. Brendon knows how it feels, to think that maybe you’re one push from giving in, but it’s not like he’d ever do anything. After the split he was a mess, and he always assumed he must have had depression during that time. Now it seems incomparable to Ryan. Brendon was never really sad. Not like Ryan, at least.

 

“This is the complete opposite of what was supposed to happen,” Brendon mutters, sitting back down. He leans his against the wall and closes his eyes. “Jon asked me to come talk to Ryan and get him help and look what happened.”

 

“I thought you were having troubles with your wife?” Z asks slowly, like she’s just finally putting the puzzles pieces together. “Ryan said…”

 

“I lied. I knew he wouldn’t listen at first. I mean, it’s Ryan. I just had to get him open, just a little, and then I could try to tell him. I fucked it up, though.”

 

Brendon realizes that maybe Ryan’s best friend or girlfriend or whoever she is isn’t the best person to be telling this too. He can only assume that she too indulgences in Ryan’s vices. If she does, she doesn’t say anything. Brendon watches as she licks her lips, eyes staring straight away like a soldier in the field. Brendon’s face is still wet from tears. He’s never been known to be the most put together person, though.

 

They wait in silence, the humming of the hospital the only thing to listen to. A few doctors pass by, eyes sympathetically flickering away from both of them. They probably see this every day. Two other of Ryan’s friends show up and sit next to Z. As they talk quietly, Brendon recognizes one of them as the man that he had felt replaced by. They both give Brendon accusing looks.

 

Brendon texts Spencer rapidly, having to retell the story all over again. Brendon’s getting fidgety, unsure of how much longer he can just sit here and wait, but then a familiar figure walks down the hallway nervously.

 

“Spencer,” Brendon breathes out, jumping up from his seat to wrap his arms around his friend. As relaxing as it was hugging Z, Spencer is completely different. Nothing compares to the comforting feeling Spencer always seems to have on Brendon. Brendon feels Spencer’s hand on the back of his head, and he starts crying again.

 

“Have you seen him yet?” Spencer whispers into Brendon’s shoulder.

 

“They won’t tell us anything,” he supplies, swallowing back a sob.

 

When they pull apart and sit back down, Brendon wonders if he should text Sarah. He doesn’t want her worrying about him, though, and it doesn’t seem right for the two different worlds to mix together. He bites his lip until it bleeds and waits for the doctors to clue them in.

 

After nearly an hour, a nurse comes out in scrubs and asks for Brendon Urie, and he rushes up from his seat to talk to her, and so does everyone else. “He’s going to be okay,” she starts, before going into the technicalities of it all, but Brendon doesn’t listen. Once he hears Ryan’s going to be alright, he feels like he can finally breathe again. She says that he’s awake and Spencer speaks up about wanting to see him first. Everyone lets him, even if it’s obvious nobody wants to wait even longer.

 

Brendon’s not sure what’s going on in the hospital room, but he knows Spencer and Ryan have a lot to talk about and too much in common. Brendon still remembers too clearly a year ago when he waited in a hospital for the doctors to say anything about Spencer’s condition. He had let it happen again. In that moment, Brendon hates himself more than he’s ever before. He let things go on for too long the same way he did with Spencer. Brendon knows everything is his fault.

 

Spencer comes back out after a while, and tells everyone that Ryan wants to sleep. Z and Ryan’s friends look frustrated about the situation, but end up leaving the hospital, making sure to get Brendon’s number in case anything happens again. Once they leave, it’s just Spencer and Brendon alone in the hospital waiting room.

 

“I’m sorry,” Brendon says. “I should have told him earlier. He was high, and I knew he was, and I should have waited or something.”

 

Spencer places a hand on Brendon’s shoulder. “Hey, Bren, it’s alright. He’s okay. We talked about it. He’s said he’ll check himself into rehab once he’s out of the hospital.”

 

He nods, feeling numb. “He was,” Brendon starts, but can’t finish the sentence so he pulls out the pill bottle.

 

“I know,” Spencer says. “It’s not your fault. He’s been like that for a while.”

 

Brendon doesn’t ever remember a Ryan that thought suicide was an option. He thinks far back to the days when Ryan would come to practice with black eyes and he would quietly explain what the lyrics meant, but Brendon still can’t remember a Ryan who wanted to kill himself. He was always a fighter, even when he had nothing left to fight for.

 

“He could be dead,” Brendon announces quietly, his brain flicking though flashbacks of a funeral he went to when he was just a kid.

 

“He’s not, though. Brendon, he’s alive because of you.”

 

It doesn’t feel that way to Brendon. If anything, he feels like the entire thing is his doing. He should have told Ryan sooner instead of just hanging around and getting close to him again. Brendon felt like the worst bad luck that Ryan could have in his life.

 

Spencer reaches over and grabs the pill bottle, one that Brendon realizes is probably for the antidepressants that Z had mentioned, and he throws it away in the trash. Brendon clenches his fist as he watches.

 

“Ryan’s going to a psychiatric ward in the morning,” Spencer announces, standing in front of Brendon. “Legally they have to keep him for at least seven days, or until they think he’s doing better.”

 

Brendon swallows. Right. Ryan’s going to a psych ward because he tried to kill himself. _Right_.

 

“He told me he didn’t want to die,” Brendon whispers. He tries not to think of himself an hour ago, on Ryan’s bathroom floor, begging him to throw up. He doesn’t want to think of it, but he does, can’t even help it.

 

Spencer gets Brendon to stand up and pulls him into another hug. Brendon keeps his arms at his side, unable to do much else than lean into Spencer.

 

“I’m sorry you have to go through this again,” Spencer tells him as he rubs soothing circles into Brendon’s back. “It’s gonna get better, though.”

 

Spencer leaves shortly after, looking a little hesitant to let Brendon stay in the hospital. Brendon’s an adult, though, and Spencer can’t tell him what to do, so he hugs Brendon one last time and then waves as he leaves the waiting room. Brendon finally walks towards the open door of Ryan’s room, finding that it’s just Ryan and no one else is sharing the room.

 

Sitting down at a seat pulled up to the bed, presumably the one Spencer pushed there, Brendon looks at Ryan sleeping. His chest moves up and down, reminding Brendon that he is alive. Ryan is _alive_. He looks at his young face, his mouth slightly agape against the pillow, and his hand pushed under his head, the IV cords twisting into the blankets.

 

Things have changed. Brendon remembers when they were younger, when the band just got big, and they were jumping around on hotel beds and eating all the food in the green rooms. He remembers all of them being alive. There was always something great going on back then. Always something new to be happy about.

 

Now, he wonders if Ryan has much of that anymore.

 

Brendon eventually dozes off in the chair, but at some point in the night, Ryan nudges him awake and makes room on his bed for Brendon to lie down next to him. Drowsily, Brendon gets into the bed and tucks himself into the sheets, pulling Ryan close and wrapping an arm around him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says. Brendon realizes Ryan is crying. “Brendon, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

 

Brendon kisses his face, right below his eye and then down to his cheek and then his lips, hoping Ryan will feel better. He doesn’t want to see Ryan cry again.

 

He places his palm on Ryan’s chest again, feels his heartbeat, and goes, “You’re alive.”

 

 

***

 

 

Brendon feels Ryan’s cold fingers on his scalp carefully combing through his hair. It makes Brendon’s throat close up, heart racing so fast that he realizes he completely forgot what it was like to get _these_ kinds of feelings for another person. Ryan still has on his hospital bracelet, the paper occasionally making a scratchy noise against Brendon’s head, making him think about what he’s done even more.

 

Ryan had only stayed at the hospital for another week. Brendon couldn’t visit him or talk to him for the entire duration of his time away. He had been the one that Ryan called when it was time to pick him up, voice soft and anxious on the other line as he told Brendon what time to be there.

 

Now, they’re on Ryan’s bed under a pile of blankets. Spencer’s supposed to be over tomorrow morning to collect Ryan’s things and bring him to the rehabilitation center not far away. It was the same one that Spencer went to instead of the one Jon suggested.

 

Brendon talked to Jon the day Ryan was admitted into the psych ward, retelling the story again, his voice uneasy as he forced words out. Jon told him that he didn’t mean for things to go the way that they did, but he was happy Ryan was finally getting help. It was what Jon wanted all along.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Brendon whispers, nearly too quiet for either of them to hear.

 

Ryan must, though, because he leans in to nuzzle against the crook of Brendon’s neck. “I understand why you had to,” he says.

 

Brendon’s already cried in front of Ryan twice today, and he doesn’t want to do it again. He wants to be strong for him, even if he knows that Ryan can do it himself. The doctors had said that he made good progress during his stay, said that they think he’s not cured, but he’s not getting worse. Brendon painfully wishes there is something he can do to help Ryan even more.

 

“Before I decided to come and see you I had all these rules set out, you know. I told myself I wasn’t allowed to do this. Or even get close to you. Now…it seems so stupid of me to think like that. Because people like you and me, we don’t ever really leave each other, you know?” Brendon tells him stupidly, blushing a little when he realizes all that he’s said.

 

Ryan smiles at him, unbashful and genuine, and goes, “I don’t think we ever get to forget each other,” Ryan says sagely.

 

It goes silent for a few minutes. Ryan’s fingers are still idly brushing through Brendon’s hair, and Brendon wishes they could just pause right then because the moment is so full and real. Brendon has a lot of those moments with Ryan, but this one seems the most important.

 

“I shouldn’t have said that you’d turn out like your dad,” Brendon says slowly. He’s said it before in arguments, when he wants to really get under Ryan’s skin, but this was different. Brendon wasn’t trying to be malicious; he was just trying to state the obvious in a way Ryan would see.

 

“You gotta stop apologizing,” Ryan tells him. “I know why you said it.”

 

They lapse into another round of blissful silence but then Brendon ruins it by asking, “Why didn’t you come back?”

 

Brendon has wanted to ask the question since the night he gave him the chance to come back. He had been drunk (or at least getting there) and called Ryan and begged him to come back and that he would forgive him for everything. And maybe the first time wasn’t as convincing as the next three calls where Brendon had been on the first tour without Ryan and he couldn’t get used to not sharing the microphone with him. Ryan never contacted him.

 

Ryan’s fingers still and he withdraws his hand. “Brendon, you know why.”

 

“I gave you so many chances,” Brendon says, ignoring Ryan. “You missed me, right? You thought about seeing me, right?”

 

“You know how confused I was at the time,” he tells Brendon. “I wanted to go back, but I had already decided that I was a different person.”

 

It was the first time Ryan’s “different person” transition hadn’t included Brendon. It made sense when he said it like that, but Brendon can still feel the bitterness and heartbrokenness when Ryan never showed his face or at least called him back.

 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Brendon whispers, leaning forward to kiss Ryan without his permission.

 

Ryan doesn’t seem to mind and carefully puts his hands on Brendon’s chest. Brendon fiddles with the hem of Ryan’s loose t-shirt until he sits up and helps Brendon slip it off.

 

“Where does this leave us?” Ryan asks.

 

Brendon doesn’t know (never really has). “I don’t know,” he mutters, kissing down Ryan’s neck. “I really don’t know.”

 

They are in that moment, and that seems enough to Brendon. He takes off his own shirt and lets their bare chest touch, everything feeling twice as hot as before. Without thinking, Brendon keeps kissing down to Ryan’s belly, the jut of his hip bones sharp beneath his tongue. His hands fervently unzip Ryan’s pants and pulls them down.

 

And, God, it’s been so long for Brendon.

 

He licks his lips and jerks Ryan off a little, watching his face contort from where he is. Licking a strip from the base to the head, he puts his lips on Ryan’s cock and takes the first inch in, placing his right hand on the base. He can hear Ryan’s jagged breathing and the little “fuck” he huffs out when Brendon attempts to take all of him in, lips against his own hand. It’s been a while, but Brendon still knows how to give a blowjob.

 

He gets into a good rhythm, bobbing up and down and holding Ryan’s hips back. Ryan lets out small noises, but he’s never been very vocal so Brendon doesn’t expect much. He does, though, expect the fingers snaking through Brendon’s hair and gripping on just a little too hard.

 

“Bren,” he breathes out. “Brendon, I wanna fuck you.”

 

Brendon pulls off his dick and gives him a few tugs of his hand before moving forward to kiss Ryan. Brendon wonders if Ryan still likes the taste of his own come in his mouth, and he wonders if he can taste the pre-come. They make out heatedly for a few more moments before separating and wordlessly taking off their clothes all the way. Brendon gets off the bed and pushes his jeans down so he’s naked.

 

Ryan gives him a long look, eyes moving up and down Brendon’s body, and then goes, “It’s in the drawer over there,” without any more explanation.

 

Brendon treks across the room to Ryan’s desk and finds a bottle of lube and a package of condoms where Ryan said they would be. With hands slightly shaky, he comes back over to the bed and pours some lube on his fingers. Ryan watches Brendon as he sticks the first finger inside of himself, biting his lip in concentration. He’s about to add another but Ryan crawls over and says, “I want to.” He slicks his fingers with lube and then prods at Brendon’s hole for a few second before he pushes two fingers. Brendon inhales sharply and tries his best not to push back against Ryan’s fingers.

 

It burns but Brendon has never minded that. Ryan’s fingers are at an awkward angle, but Brendon pulls him forward so they can kiss. Ryan pushes into him just right and Brendon can’t help the moan that falls out as Ryan bites at his lip. He pushes back and whispers, “Fuck me.”

 

“Yeah,” Ryan nods jerkily. “Yeah, okay.”

 

They end up awkwardly sprawled on the bed, Brendon’s legs mashed against his chest and Ryan looking at his face as he pushes in. Brendon closes his eyes and grabs onto the bed sheets, twisting them until the pain doesn’t feel as bad. It’s obvious Ryan is trying to be gentle, but for as long as Brendon has had sex with Ryan, he was anything but.

 

Ryan picks up a quick tempo, and once Brendon isn’t in so much pain, he pushes forward at the same time Ryan does, making both of them moan and grasp onto each other. It’s been so long for Brendon that he doesn’t last long, but neither does Ryan.

 

And when they come, there is no mumbled ‘I love you’s, but Ryan does grab for his hand, their fingers entwining easily, and that feels like enough.

 

***

 

They wake up to the sound of someone repeatedly ringing the doorbell. The noise reverbs through Ryan’s house and nearly makes Brendon jolt up out of bed like he’s on tour and he’s going to miss a sound check. When he opens his eyes, though, he just sees Ryan sleeping peacefully, his body pushed against Brendon’s chest.

 

It’s not the first time they have woken up like this, except this time Brendon feels like it’s finally alright. There are no girlfriends or bandmates to find them and accuse them of things. It’s just them in that moment. And the insistent doorbell ringing.

 

Brendon pushes Ryan awake, groggily telling him to go answer his goddamn door. Ryan smiles drowsily and stands up, pulling on a pair of boxers (which Brendon thinks are his) and heads towards the door. Brendon follows him after he’s put on a shirt and underwear, finding Spencer standing in Ryan’s living room. He’s got his car keys in one hand, twirling them around and eyeing Brendon suspiciously. Brendon holds his hard gaze for a few moments, but then they both break into grins.

 

“Have a good night?” Spencer asks, punctuating it with a chuckle.

 

Brendon runs a hand through his hair and goes, “Fuck yeah.”

 

Ryan emerges from the bathroom wearing black jeans and a loose t-shirt. His hair is flat against his skull and his glasses are half down his nose. “Shit, I’m sorry, Spence,” he murmurs as he rushes through the house and throws things into a duffle bag.

 

“It’s fine. I came early because I had a feeling you wouldn’t be ready,” Spencer tells him.

 

Quietly stuffing a few shoes into the bag, he looks up to Spencer and smiles shyly at him and says, “Thanks,” and then, “Can I bring books?”

 

Spencer nods and watches as Ryan grabs the first five books on his bookshelf and shoves them into his bag. Brendon fiddles with his fingers, trying not to think of how long Ryan will be gone. Technically, he has no idea how long the treatment is, couldn’t bring himself to ask Spencer, but he’s not sure if he should even see Ryan again afterwards.

 

They made up and had the sex to prove it, but that never meant things were back to normal for them. Usually a round of sex only made things messier. Ryan’s going to rehab and Brendon’s going back to see his wife and that’s it for them. When Brendon had first arrived at Brendon house, he never thought he would be contemplating what would happen to them.

 

After Ryan has a bag filled, he dumps it near the door and then turns to Spencer and Brendon. “I’m ready.”

 

“I’ll go…and wait in the car,” Spencer mumbles, looking between Brendon and Ryan and grabbing the duffle bag on his way out.

 

“You don’t mind locking up, right? You can take a shower before you leave. If you want,” Ryan babbles. “Oh, and the cat, can you feed him before you go out and—“

 

“ _Ryan_ ,” Brendon interrupts. “What are we?”

 

Ryan looks down awkwardly, not looking up to Brendon as he goes, “I don’t know. I just—I don’t want to lose you again.”

 

Brendon smiles because it’s clear that Ryan is echoing him.

 

“I know you have Sarah,” he tells Brendon. “I know you do. But, I still want to see you and talk to you and…I don’t know. I need you , Brendon.”

 

He does have Sarah, but he had Ryan way before, when he was a miserable teenager nearly kicked out his own house, and when he was terrified to go on stage at award shows, and when he was a confused twenty-one year old with feelings for his best friend. He always had Ryan.

 

“I need you too, and when you’re clean, call me up, okay? We can write some music together or something.”

 

Or something.

 

Ryan smiles, white teeth and all. “Definitely.”

 

Brendon can’t wait any longer, so he rushes over to Ryan and pulls him into a hug. Their chests collide and Ryan wraps his arms around Brendon’s torso, and Brendon needs this. He whispers, “Get better,” into Ryan’s neck and really hopes he does.

 

“I will,” Ryan whispers back.

 

They pull back and don’t kiss, but the smiles on their faces don’t dull. Ryan finally leaves out the door and Brendon watches out the window as Ryan gets into Spencer’s car looking disoriented.

 

Brendon can still smell Ryan on him.

 

He forces himself to look away from the window before their car drives off, and instead just listens for the tell-tale noise of a car making its way down the road. It’s not until he hears that that he heads for Ryan’s bedroom. After changing into his own clothes and collecting a few of his belongings, he notices Ryan’s hospital bracelet cut off and lying on his desk.

 

On the inside of the paper bracelet, Ryan had written two words: _I’m alive_.

 


End file.
